<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>nocturne in e flat major by eggnoobles</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27395593">nocturne in e flat major</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggnoobles/pseuds/eggnoobles'>eggnoobles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dream Smp, Gen, Mentioned Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), im sorry i don’t know how to tag this lol, takes place mostly post-election, tubbo plays the piano, weird 3am piano nostalgia starring tubbo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:22:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,483</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27395593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggnoobles/pseuds/eggnoobles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>also know as ‘of chopin (and other composers that don’t exist in minecraft)’</p><p>tubbo never really liked classical music.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>nocturne in e flat major</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>tubbo never cared much for classical music.</p><p>it was always so slow, so careful, so quiet- at least, the ones he’d heard always were. so boring, according to tommy.<br/>
there wasn’t much to playing them, either; piano came easily to him. he only had to press the keys in the right order at the right time. it was almost like redstone- incredibly simple, once you broke it down to the essentials, but incredibly impressive to the less-informed.</p><p>all of that wasn’t to say he couldn’t play it, of course. tubbo had learned plenty of songs over the years, and the classics had come naturally. the sheet music found tucked away in old books and chests, the notes still bold against the thin, yellowing paper.</p><p>they were simple. they were always quieter songs. a romantic minuet here, a nocturne there. whoever left them behind clearly cared for the sentimental value behind them, and tubbo, the newfound archivist tubbo, wasn’t one to throw out history.<br/>
and so into folders and onto shelves they went, never to be played again. after all, there wasn’t value behind them to him- other kinds of music took that priority. </p><p>he loved playing songs when he could, back in his old cottage. back before the flames consumed it. the old half-tuned piano was one of his favorite places to sit, the sunshine coming through the windows in the afternoon, hitting the keys perfectly and giving him the light to see what he was doing. but they were almost never the slow, contemplative songs. always the quick tunes, the silly songs both him and tommy loved and knew by heart. the able sisters, and cat, and megalovania because it always made them laugh. </p><p>sometimes mellohi, when the day had been long and the war had been postponed, when he could tell the familiar tune was needed but the disc couldn’t risk being removed from its hiding place.</p><p>but never anything else. usually because tommy would always get bored and start pressing random keys in the middle of the song, just to piss tubbo off and distract him. and the two were rarely separated, and even more rare was a moment alone without some mission to complete first, so there wasn’t any time to spare playing some ancient waltz.</p><p>not that it bothered tubbo. the old piano was gone now, the war was over. and he wasn’t about to mourn something he’d never valued in the first place, right? </p><p>and then there was the election.</p><p>and then l’manberg was gone, and the uniforms were cast aside or burnt (some more happily than others). the old attire replaced with the new, the original cast of the revolution broken up and spread out across the smp.<br/>
the old tubbo was gone, and in his place, the secretary of state stood tall and alone. </p><p>and without his companion by his side, without tommy there to help fill his head with ideas and plans and the same old jukebox tunes- the silence was deafening.</p><p>there wasn’t any time to care about it, either. schlatt seemed to have an endless list of tasks for tubbo to complete. there was paperwork to sign and messages to be delivered, usually things of the political type to give to the people on the outskirts of the smp. he suspected the bigger-than-usual tasks were always given to him specifically, just to get him out of the president’s way. by the time he was done it was always late at night, the moon high in the sky lighting his path back to the bunker where he slept.</p><p>____</p><p>it was a painfully quiet trek. a few crickets here and there, the waves crashing against the docks in the distance, the gravel crunching and the prime path’s planks softly thunking underneath his feet. if he strained himself listened closely there was even more.</p><p>punz’s bees buzzing madly on their way back to their respective hives.<br/>
a sheep wandering freely on the bank of the river with a lamb in tow.<br/>
an unfamiliar tune playing on a piano far away.<br/>
leaves rustling in the midnight breeze-</p><p>tubbo stopped.</p><p>there were no pianos in l’manberg. and never in his travels had he seen one in manberg. maybe he was hearing things? a vivid memory, perhaps.<br/>
(but how could he remember a song he’d never heard?)<br/>
and there it was again, the keys being played by skilled hands somewhere-</p><p>ah. there.<br/>
lamplight from one of the windows of the white house caught his eye. it was in the ballroom, a room never occupied or visited, as far as he was aware. someone must have installed the piano after the election and then never touched it again, because he’d had no idea it even existed there in the first place.</p><p>the secretary raced up the steps, past the bamboo and the stage, through the door and then through another door, and then quickly slipped back into the main hall because he’d almost been caught by the musician. with the door cracked open a few inches and a hand over his mouth to stifle himself, tubbo peered inside.</p><p>...it was fundy. the music was louder here, echoing and repeating gently. sheet music was propped up over the keyboard, and the hybrid seemed deep in focus, and if tubbo opened the door a little more and squinted at the title-</p><p>ah, he recognized it now. it was one he’d completely forgotten about, because for the past year it had been tucked away in the music section of the archives. and somehow, fundy had obtained it, probably sneaking it out of the bunker underneath his old jacket.<br/>
tubbo couldn’t bring himself to be mad at him, though.</p><p>he’d seen the way his colleagues had been behaving, the way schlatt spoke to all of them. the way fundy was no longer a last resort like he was in l’manberg, but barely promoted to third-best. when the fox declared his campaign it was clear in his voice that all he wanted was to prove a point, to show that he wasn’t just wilbur’s son. to claim his place in the spotlight for once. maybe, even more daringly, to make wilbur’s role simply ‘the father of the president’. </p><p>he failed, and miserably. coconut2020 came fourth despite all his best attempts, and in a last minute decision, a last grasp at power, he joined schlatt. </p><p>tubbo could relate, if only a tiny bit. he’d played the role of the sidekick and been assumed to be second-best to tommy for long enough to know very well what it felt like. how it felt to have someone look at you and only think of someone else’s achievements. to be associated with things you’d never even done.</p><p>maybe a break was what they both deserved. a moment to breathe. to think. to hear a different song, a change of pace from the expectations so forcefully thrown upon them.</p><p>____</p><p>he dwelled in those thoughts and memories now as the song came to its final notes.<br/>
fundy sat in front of the piano for a long time after his audienceless performance was complete, tail brushing against the stone floor. the clock ticked on as tubbo held his breath in anticipation, expecting another song, but the fox made no move to flip the page. </p><p>and then he was standing up, walking to the door of the ballroom, abandoning the sheet music at the piano without any identifiable emotion on his face. that mask had been pulled back on, the role as the side character accepted once again.</p><p>tubbo ran and hid behind some curtains as fundy opened the door into the main hall and stepped outside into the night. he didn’t know why his first instinct was to hide- maybe to let the fox keep that memory safe; savor the illusion of being alone with his thoughts.</p><p>the lamp was burning low when he stepped out into the open and creeped over to the piano.<br/>
the sheet music was decrepit compared to the polished wood of the upright piano. the edges of the paper had tears and folds, the black ink slightly faded against a yellowing background. the strings that bound it together looked ready to snap- a few already had, in fact. </p><p>tubbo could make do with that.<br/>
he’d never played this song before, and he considered playing something else- after all, this one was much longer and slower than what he was used to.</p><p>...but then again, what was the rush? was there really any interruptions for him to fear here, alone in the ballroom of this new nation?</p><p>maybe a change of pace would be nice.</p><p>maybe the relative silence was alright.</p><p>____</p><p>the ticking of the clock and the passage of time faded out as tubbo looked over the title once more and began to play.<br/>
nocturne in e flat major - op. 9, no. 2.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if u made it this far thank u for reading :’) i just really like tubbo and his funky tunes</p><p>would highly recommend listening to this version of nocturne in e flat cause it’s exactly what motivated me to write this all in one night with zero editing &gt;&gt;&gt; (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ckg2tv8xJ9o&amp;app=desktop)</p><p>this also technically takes place in my au called vivifica but i haven’t written much else for the actual plot of the au so. yeah. this is the first one-shot for it and you can’t even tell it takes place in an alternate universe oops lol</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>